I finished my life of full-time work in the late spring of 2014. I got lucky. My boss, Iain Duncan Smith, Gawd bless ‘im, decided there were too many civil servants and allowed many of us to retire early. It was a very easy decision. I had done 39 years in the civil service and I was done. It had become a chore getting up for work and I had come to hate Monday mornings – and I really mean hate. And when you begin to hate something, it’s time to change.
I remembered this as I sat on my patio on a glorious March morning. The air temperature was a lowly 8c, but away from the slight breeze the sun was much warmer than that. I read my newspaper from beginning to end, I drank the coffee pot dry and even managed to nod off. If Carlsberg did Monday mornings, they’d have done this one. What a pity they can’t add brewing decent lager to their short list of abilities.
Hardly in the first flush of youth, adjusting to a life of additional leisure, housework (you can’t have everything) and of course golf was a pleasing passage of life. I worked out long ago that I won’t be here forever and that the older you get the faster time appears to pass. I became aware of my life priorities.
I used to enjoy my occasional trips away with work. Nothing glamorous like travel abroad, but there was pleasure to be gained from being let off of life’s leash, having far too much beer and food and crashing out in a generic hotel room. It was only when I began to see time away from my family and my normal surroundings as being time that was wasted and, moreover, time that would never come around again.
I am still in touch with many work colleagues who took the plunge and got out in 2014 and those who went long before. Some work, doing things they never imagined possible (like me) and others live a perfect life, away from the rat race, not having to be woken by the Monday morning alarm; doing whatever they like. Not one of them regrets it.
It is also true that making the decision to escape the 9 to 5 drudgery is influenced by things that happen to others. Dreadful illnesses and conditions that strike suddenly and unannounced or that creep up on you and awful premature bereavement. You really don’t know what’s around the corner. Shortly before I left the civil service, I was in a nice hotel in Runcorn. The facilities were great, I was a stone’s throw away from numerous pubs and restaurants, I was with some great fun people. But I no longer wanted to be there. I wanted to be at home, I wanted to be going away for a break or a proper holiday, I didn’t want to be at someone else’s beck and call. I was ready to do something else.
“Don’t you get bored?” someone asked me, a few months after I left the civil service. It was a question I had not expected nor anticipated. I hadn’t had time to think about it. There was so much to do that I couldn’t do before. In leaving full-time work, I had escaped clock watching, life-wasting boredom.
John Lennon once sang “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans” (although it is disputed that he and actually come up with it himself) and he was spot on. I spent many years wondering what the hell to do with my life, knowing the one thing I didn’t want to was to work until I dropped. I had seen enough sadness and tragedy happen to those who looked forward to a brighter day, away from the daily grind, set free from the machine but saw it all stolen away. I realised there were no guarantees, that the best laid plans offered no certainties, that living in the material world was all very well, but it wouldn’t make me happy and fulfilled.
I feel very lucky that I had grown disillusioned with my job at the time when an opportunity came along for me to leave it behind. I would recommend it to anyone. I don’t envy anyone their success, nor their desire to improve their own material world, or to top up their pile of money. In fact, I applaud and welcome success, especially when my family and friends work so hard to achieve it. I would certainly welcome a substantial additional income, but I can honestly say that it is not anywhere near the top of my priorities.
Iain Duncan Smith might be a complete bar steward – well, no might be about it: he is – but speaking personally I am grateful for his public spending cut that enabled me to be free. How very Tory that last bit reads!
